


On the Lip of the Bridge

by CaesariDiffidimus



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Clint Is a Good Bro, Emotional Trauma, Everyone else is either a dick or oblivious besides those two, Gen, Hurt Loki, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Needs a Hug, M/M, Neglect, Paranoia, Physical Abuse, Racism, Sleep Deprivation, Stephen Strange is a Good Bro, Thor is Oblivious, Unreliable Narrator, Verbal Abuse, Whump, breaking of the Geneva contract, forcing someone to sleep outside, fully disregard for the Geneva contract because Loki’s an alien, i usually like wong, this just happened I’m sorry, wong is a dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesariDiffidimus/pseuds/CaesariDiffidimus
Summary: Loki is a ward of Stephen Strange after he, Thor, Bruce, Valkyrie, and the other inhabitants of the Statesman make it to earth (Thanos never happened because fuck Russo brothers). He is, as was expected, not well liked, and puts little to no effort into endearing himself to people He’s churlish and prickly but Stephen reckons its just a learned facade—a cope—one might say.Earth’s government, including SHIELD, and the Avengers interrogated Loki upon arrival and learned he too was controlled by the Mind Stone. Gomora, and Valkyrie inform them that the Mind Stone only exacerbates what is already in a person’s mind so they decided it doesn’t matter that he was not of sound mind, or that he did not do it of his own volition. Strange finds a way to make the man his ward but Fury and Valkyrie don’t think that’s enough—they think he ought be punished and serve recompense. So Loki is spelled with a teleportation charm that allows Fury, Thor, Valkyrie, Strange, and the other Avengers to magic Loki to their location at any time of the day or night. This goes as well as you might think.Loki struggles to cope with his new life, but against his best efforts, makes a few friends.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Loki, Stephen Strange/Loki
Comments: 27
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright gang, this is not beta’d, if anyone wants to beta is please feel free to help a human out. 
> 
> Relationships: I listed Strange/Loki and Clint/Loki because i do not know which it will actually be, it may be both, it may be only one. I think it will be both in like a very modern “affection turns sexual because we are both adult sexually ambiguous males” so it may not be a legit committed bf/bf thing but it will at the very least be kissing, physical affection, comfort etc. 
> 
> I have maybe 4 chapters done, but only 1 edited so we shall see how this goes. 
> 
> Let me know if there are any discrepancies that I may edit.

Loki stood in the hall waiting for Strange to be done with his meeting. He had an appointment with some of the Avenger’s, a representative from SHIELD, and Brunhilde acting on behalf of the king, his brother. Stephen had told him he could be in the room if he so wished, that nothing they would discuss today was private, but Loki had declined. They did not like him, some more than others, and he did not like them, so why add stress where it could be avoided?

He could hear bits and pieces of the conversation if he payed attention. Brunhilde had asked once more for him, Loki, to be handed over to her custody. Thor had expressed to Loki that he was of course welcome in New Asgard, but he did not think Thor would push it passed Loki’s polite refusal. He certainly did not think Thor would send Brunhilde to convince everyone but Loki to force him to go back to New Asgard, so it must be her own doing for her own interests.

She didn’t like Loki. She made it very clear. Loki mostly found this amusing considering the woman was a traitor, a trafficker of humans and aliens, a slaver trader, and she had kidnapped and sold the Asgardian king like chattel.

But yes, believe you her, she the saint and Loki the sinner.

Loki had a sneaking suspicion that the Valkyrie was projecting her feelings of internalized distaste for herself onto Loki. It was easier than self reflection, and it was easy to dislike Loki. He knew he was no charismatic energy like his brother, or Stark for that matter—he vexed people easily, he was often referred to as _‘too much’,_ additionally he found that he annoyed people by merely existing in their orbit, he didn’t actually have to _do_ anything.

Loki sneaked out of the library doors to better hear the conversation. He stood perhaps two feet away from the closed office doors before he could hear anything clearly. He thought they were talking about someone from Norway disliking that the Asgardians were armed.

Before he could decipher another word the door flew open. Every head inside snapped to the side and stared in surprise at him. No one stood by the door, he noticed, and none seemed unsurprised to see him. It wasn’t until a movement from the corner of his eye made him look over—and see Wong standing there with a smirk on his face—though his eyes lacked all amusement.

“Loki,” said Strange from inside where he sat on a high wingback chair of red velvet. Loki looked back at him but couldn’t help his eyes wandering across the small crowd who all stared at him either with shock or revived distaste. To his surprise Clint, who leaned against the wall in the back corner of the room, only looked mildly curious. Romanov and Brunhilde looked as if they were barely keeping in check their homicidal urges.

“The snake in the grass emerges,” said Valkyrie, complimented with a smirk from Romanov.

Strange frowned at them before turning back to Loki.

“Did you… did you need something, Loki?” Strange cleared his throat, seemingly going to be the only one to speak to Loki any further. When Loki did not respond the good doctor went on. “Only you came in here so, uh… with such _enthusiasm_ I assumed…” he trailed off.

Loki’s face burned with embarrassment. He shook his head once, glancing over where Wong stood, though he was no longer there.

“It was not I who opened the door, I hadn’t ac…”

“No accountability even for trivial things as this, typical,” Valkyrie sneered, mirth clear in her voice.

“Ever the victim,” said Romanov.

Neither seemed to be talking to Loki directly, only about him to the room at large as if he were not present at all. Strange spared them a single glance, still frowning. The rest of the room seemed content to let them speak as they will. He thought perhaps if Thor were here he would say something—but perhaps not.

Loki swallowed visibly. “I was only passing. It was… I’m sorry, it was a mistake,” he said quickly, his words smashing together haphazardly like a train screeching to a halt in those cheap retro cartoons he’d seen.

He couldn’t step back quick enough. Once he was out the doors remained open though he didn’t care to look back to see if they closed them. He fled to the kitchens hoping Wong would not be there. He didn’t want to go back to his room as it was always monitored. All the rooms he was allowed in were monitored, of course, but his bedroom was monitored at all times.

Seldom did things go Loki’s way but this one time they seemed to. The kitchens were mercifully empty. He wandered in, eyed every corner suspiciously as if Wong would emerge at any moment and chastise him—though of course he did not. Vegetables were set out on the counter on a cutting board, each piece still whole; preparations for dinner no doubt.

He should look for something to eat, something warm to drink, it was late autumn after all. Loki always enjoined kitchens no matter what realm he was on. There was something inherently hygge about kitchens.

Content to stay a while Loki procured a plain white mug from the cabinet and set it on the counter by the stovetop. He always chose the same mug, it was a mug he never saw anyone use. When he’d first arrived here he witnessed Wong chastise Strange for using _his mug_ and from then on Loki had been sure to observe which mugs each man used, and to not use them ever.

Flicking the kettle on he rifled through the tea drawer, procured a Scottish black he’d liked well enough before, and dropped the bag into his cup. Waiting patiently for the water he was reminded of why he’d gone to find Strange in the first place. In his pocket was the woven fabric bookmark they’d found at the open market some days ago. Strange had remarked on its design resembling tapestry from the Middle Ages, Loki didn’t know what that would entail but he did agree it was well to look at. The one he had now was not the one they found there because Loki hadn’t any money so had magically copied and manifested it into existence from a much simpler thread bracelet he’d made for this purpose.

Loki had altered the ends of the place marker into thin braids so the bookmark could be fastened like a bracelet, and then enchanted it with a linguistic charm. Strange was not a dullard with language but he struggled where Loki did not because of Allspeak. This would make their studies—and Strange’s independent studies—go much smoother.

Loki thumbed the bracelet in his pocket. He couldn’t help the worry that Strange would make fun of it, find it amusing, ridicule it. That Loki would hand it to him and he would look at him incredulously as if such a trifle _gift_ was offensive by nature.

With a sigh he flicked the kettle back off, poured his tea and left it to steep.

“What do you have there,” hissed a voice in ca painfully familiar accusatory tone.

Loki spun around so fast his elbow caught the white mug with his freshly brewing tea and the thing splashed everywhere, the cup crashing to the floor. Loki stepped back instinctively when he realized how close Wong was to him, his bare feet crunching on sharp ceramic. He winced but otherwise did not indicate his pain.

“What do you have there!” Wong repeated, eyes stern and hard.

It took Loki a moment to realize he was referring to the hand in his pocket.

Loki swallowed and shook his head. “I… It’s nothing, it was… or rather it is for Steph… Dr. Strange,” Loki corrected himself, sure that Wong would dislike their ward using the Midgardian sorcerers given name so familiarity.

“I’ll have a look.” The visibly older man waved his hand at Loki, palm up. “Wouldn’t want you giving him a cursed artifact.”

Loki shook his head, “No, it’s nothing like…”

“What you say matters little, you know it, and you know why, so hand it over or else.”

Loki promptly dropped the bracelet in Wong’s proffered hand.

Wong scrutinized the bracelet before grasping it in his hands and closing his eyes, showing just how nonplussed he was by Loki’s limited power—willfully unguarded in front of such a powerful mage—or rather, he _had_ been a powerful mage.

When he opened his eyes he scoffed. “I doubt this would aid a school age child learn their alphabet,” he said before tossing the bracelet in Loki’s general direction.

The jewelry hit Loki’s chest, he fumbled to catch it, missed, and the thing fell to his feet in the mix of tea and blood. Loki cursed and quickly picked the thing up, flinging it once to get it dry before pressing it between two parts of his jumper.

When he looked back up Wong was gone and he was once more alone. Only now the kitchen was not a comfort, his tea was gone, and his day quite spoilt. He loathed the feeling of always being out of place, always on the outside looking it. Always trying to endear himself to people who loathed him for no apparent reason. Though he had experienced such a feeling for all of his life, or at least much of it, he never got used to it—it always felt poorly did the sour pinching feeling in your gut when you felt guilt but didn’t know why, felt anxiety because you didn’t know why you felt guilt.

Loki’s eyes burned, his throat tightened uncomfortably, and with new resolution he stalked toward the exit, throwing the bracelet in the rubbish bin as he went out. It had made him feel good to have gotten it for Strange, to have made it, to have practiced a bit of magic for him, though he knew it was not impressive. He had smiled as he’d worked and smiled wider when it was done and he’d felt accomplished. It had taken a while for the negative thoughts to set in regarding the bracelet, and Wong’s involvement settled it.

Strange would just laugh at him, or even worse he would pity him and look at him as if he were a child drawing a horrible rendering of a prairie creature and proffering it to their parent for superficial ooh’s and aww’s. It made him feel like a dog to think of the fact that he _knew_ he would feel good, that his stomach would tighten and flip, that his cheeks would redden for so much as a proverbial ‘ _good boy_ ’ from Stephen.

It didn’t matter. He would go back to his room, read, pointedly not think about Wong or Strange, and contemplate actually taking Thor up on his offer to return to New Asgard, despite the fact that Brunhilde was horrible, that Thor was… Thor. He loved his brother more than he would admit, and more than other people understood, but though his brother was kindly and meant good in his actions he was often hurtful and neglectful of Loki. Perhaps it was childish, many would say it was, but to always be baying at someone for attention and validation and to never get it was exhausting, and further more it was difficult to stop.

So Loki headed to his room, arms crossed and pressed protectively against his chest. He would be alone as he always was, he was better alone, safer, and everyone else preferred it anyway.

His guests were long gone when Stephen walked into the kitchen for tea and a snack. Exerting such energy in talking waves exhausting. Before he made it even two steps he saw the bookmark in the bin and, frowning curiously, picked it up. The thing was clearly imbued with magic, he could tell easily. He hadn’t made it, and he would have known had Wong done it, so it must have been Loki. But why would he throw it away?

“That’s got magic,” said a voice behind him; Wong.

Strange started but didn’t turn around. He made a noncommittal noice, turning the thing in his hand.

“The Snake leaving magical items around is reckless and dangerous.”

Strange sighed a sigh he clearly had sighed before, the tone of it was defeated. “I assume you refer to Loki?”

“The Snake,” enforced Wong.

Stephen rolled his eyes. “It’s just a small spell. I don’t think anyone could use this to harm—plus, as you know, I am guarded as to who I let in here,” the last comment was enjoined by a lifted eyebrow.

Wong walked passed him shrugging.

“It is reckless.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Stephen said after some time.


	2. Chapter 2

Stephen knocked at Loki’s door. After the gentle _thud thud thud_ of hurrying feet the door inched open to show the pale face of one Loki Odinson. The man watched him cautiously, eyebrows furrowed as they so often were, but, as usually, he said nothing.

“Is this yours?” Strange asked, dangling the bracelet item in the air. To his surprise Loki’s cheeks took on a reddy look almost immediately. The bracelet wasn’t anything scandalous, so what was it that embarrassed him? Or perhaps he just didn’t like the direct line of question—he was a private and reclusive man after all.

Loki nodded, but did not reach for the item, nor did he flatten his hand out to request silently that it be dropped upon it. Stephen swung the thing up and caught it in his hand, covering it into a fist. “What’s it for? Wong thought perhaps you were up to mischief.” At this Loki’s eyebrows twitched but he still said nothing. Strange had learned that Loki was at all times cautious, prickly if you did get him to talk, and jaded.

The Avengers had made Loki sound like a self important sociopath with delusions of grandeur who liked to hear himself talk, but that Loki and _this_ Loki were no more the same person than the Queen of England and Alastair Crowley.

“Do you…want it back?” He asked, prolonging the last two vowels of _you_.

Loki chewed on his lips, eyes still guarded and cautious. He shook his head, and swallowed visibly. “It… it was for you. I, just I had thought,” Loki cleared his throat and broke eye contact with Strange. “You struggled with many languages; all ancient languages actually,” he said, his confidence boosting slightly at the lack of eye contact. “I had thought the charmed bracelet might help you.”

Strange was evidently surprised, his mouth agape and eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “Ah… oh, right.” He clasped the thing in his hand.

Neither of them spoke for a pregnant pause.

Stephen cleared his throat. “Why, uh… why did you throw it out then…?”

Loki shrugged, his expression of caution never wavering.

Strange sighed and offered the bracelet out for Loki to grab. The god held his hand out tentatively for the jewelry to be dropped into.

“Evens still, Odinson, you shouldn’t leave magical artifacts lying around, small magic like like this or not.”

The piece was dropped into his hand and it felt like a leaden weight. Even though he was well aware the spell was small magic, as Strange had said, for some reason the comment still felt dismissive—dismissive of the bracelet, the magic, the effort, and Loki all together. He’d told him it was for him and Strange had politely refused it.

Loki closed the door quickly, shutting it subsequently in Strange’s face. His breath was coming in painful, short bursts. His throat was tight and his eyes burned. Loki threw the bracelet against the wall and, pulling his hood over his head, opened his closet door and walked in, sitting on the floor in the corner. He tucked his legs against his chest and pressed his mouth against his denim knee.

He liked the smallness of the closet. He came in here often. No one ever came here to see _him_ of all people, and Strange only interacted with him a couple times a week so thus far no one had realized he did this and so he could keep it to himself, for now—for now it wasn’t strange, it wasn’t poor behavior, it wasn’t _odd_.

He felt safe in here.

“He is not in his room,” said Wong. Strange could see the lividity on his face and knew not to test it or make light of it, even if he thought it was unreasonable. Loki hadn’t done anything since he’d gotten to the Sanctum. Strange had told Thor his brother could stay, it had been his idea, but he still anticipated _some_ poor behavior form the younger Odinson. Yet he did nothing. He seldom talked, he seldom looked people in the eye, he perpetually scowled, he kept mostly to himself, he read a lot, he was skittish and looked at everyone as if he awaited their grand scheme, knowing its nefarious tricks were just around the corner. But he _did_ nothing. That mattered little to Wong, it would seem the young man’s very existence was an irksome inequality to Wong.

“Are you sure?” Asked Strange. Wong’s expression did not waiver. Strange sighed in defeat and leaned back in his chair. “He’s never snuck around before so…”

“He _only_ sneaks around. He walks without sound, he lurks behind corners.”

Strange couldn’t help the huff of a laugh that escaped him. “Well that’s hardly a crime.”

Wong would not be swayed.

Together they walked the short distance to Loki’s room and pushed open the door. Wong was, at the very least, correct that Loki could not be immediately found.

“Mr. Odinson?” Strange called out. No answer. “Loki, I’ve just come to see that you’re alright.” Still no answer.

“If we have lost him—I fear for what he may do.”

Strange thought that was an exaggeration. The man had most of his magic cut off from his employ. He had the capability to only be as strong as any average human—and he was not even _that_ strong. It wasn’t like Wong to act this way, and to be honest it took him off guard, but something about the young _god (_ it rankled him still to refer to the alien as such) irritated Wong to no end.

“Check under the bed,” said Strange as he checked the bathroom.

Before he was done looking in the bathroom, and checking the small window there, a yelp sounded from the other room, following by Wong’s angered growl. Strange rushed out, hanging on the edge of the door to swing himself out.

Wong held Loki by the scruff of his sweatshirt, shaking him.

“You did not hear us call?” Said Wong, shaking the younger man once more. Loki was trying his best to pry Wong’s hands off his shirt to no avail.

When Stephen had first walked out Loki’s face had been one of shock but now it was returned to its usually expression of discontent. He never looked angry, just… brooding.

“Well?” Said Wong.

Loki’s eyes darted to Strange before returning to the ground, his fingers hanging limply from Wong’s wrist. He said nothing.

“I don’t think there’s anything too provocative about sitting in one’s closet, Wong,” relinquished Strange, pressing a finger and thumb to his temple and brow and massaging there gently before sighing and resting his hands on his hips. “Just… it’s alright. We’ll see you for dinner, Loki.” With this Strange made to leave.

Wong looked furious, as he always did with Loki, but content to leave as well.

In passing Strange peaked into the closet and saw that it was empty save for a pillow and blanket.

Well that’s curious, he thought.

The next day found Loki in the sitting in the office with Strange, a SHIELD agent, and Brunhilde; the Valkyrie. The SHIELD agent came on behalf of both Fury, and the US government. They had demands for Loki and his imprisonment here on earth. According to the agent it was unreasonable that Loki was just dinking around some old house doing nothing all day. Apparently that was unfair as he had invaded the world some years ago.

It had come to light that the mind stone had been used on Loki just as it had via the scepter on Selvig and Barton, but when that information had been revealed it changed no one’s mind. Loki watched them, watched every expression, and they did change, they shuttered from confident, to unsure what to say next, and then right back to confident. Valkyrie had told them the stones only exploit things you already want, information she was told by Gomora. This was enough for the rest of the group to nod fervently, their resolution restored. No one noted that that rule would then apply to the traitors Selvig and Barton.

So Loki had been held accountable for the invasion. They had interrogated him or days, they didn’t let him sleep or have food or water. Though no residual punishment but imprisonment at the Sanctum had come forth until now. He had a sinking feeling Valkyrie had something to do with the new found vigor to make him see justice. If that was so he was afraid of what this justice would be.

“Loki has magic, we have the ability to interrupt his magic with the obedience disk,” Valkyrie explained. She didn’t look at Loki once since the meeting started. “We would like a charm set up that draws Loki to me, Thor, and the avengers, when we need him we will use this charm, he will come and use healing powers to aid us, nothing more. If he steps out of line…” she raised the remote for the obedience disk and Loki flinched noticeably, his hand instinctively going to his neck where the disk was imbedded. Valkyrie smirked devilishly.

“What do you think of that, Loki?” Asked Strange, turning back to Loki, though the other man did not look up from his hands. In fact he made no indication he heard Strange at all.

“It matters not what he thinks,” sneered Valkyrie.

Strange smiled thinly at her though it did not reach his eyes. He looked back down at Loki. “Loki? What do you think about this?”

Loki still said nothing, though this time he at least glanced up at Stephen.

“I’m sure Fury wont have any complaints about his newfound vow of silence,” the agent said, smiling a coy smile at Strange as if he thought the man would enjoy the ribbing. He did not.

“When does this contract start, and for how long does it go?”

The SHIELD agent shrugged. “Immediately, if you’re willing to perform the charm.

Strange cleared his throat and nodded. “Right,” was all he said before beginning the spell. It was simple and over with quickly. Loki still did not look up even when magic was being performed on and around him.

“Done?” Asked Valkyrie.

No more than a second after Strange nodded, Brunhilde enacted the charm which roughly transported Loki from his chair, to toppling to the floor before her. His knees and hands hit the floor hard, when he noticed her boots too close to his face he scrambled backward.

She was laughing.

“Well, it works,” she said, retrieving her flask and taking a swig from it.

Loki forwent dinner that night, his stomach too uneasy to eat. In the privacy of his bedroom he slipped out of his jeans and pulled on some black sweatpants, a pair that matched the sweatshirt he was already wearing. No sooner did he have those on was he teleported to a dark street, crashing and yelling accosting his ears, the sudden transfer from the quiet of the Sanctum to the uproar of physical discourse was unsettling. He could not tell at first in which direction the noise came from.

His heart was pounding in his ears, his breathing fast and sharp. He stepped backward quickly, hitting a brick wall, his foot cut on something, and it was then he was reminded that he was bare footed. He seldom was but he had been changing so of course his shoes had been toed off.

Someone whistled, he looked around, unsure where it came from. “Loki, over here!” The whistler shouted. It was Tony Stark, his face plate up, skin flushed and beaded with sweat. He was leaning over two unconscious civilians.

Loki swallowed the clog in his throat and jaunted over to the Avenger.

“Heal them real quick. Then Barton needs your attention.” With that Stark pointed toward the fire escape of the building across the way where a body lay unmoving, assuredly Barton’s.

Loki nodded once but said nothing as he knelt down in front of the two civilians. Both were women, neither were bleeding but both were unresponsive. He held his hands over them and sensed for the issue. It was some sort of toxin or poison in their system.

Loki hated retrieving poisons.

Before anyone could hound him for not being fast enough he hovered a hand over each woman’s stomach, closed his eyes, and summoned the poison to his own body. He could feel it squeezing his intestines almost immediately. His face twisted into a grimace of pain and nausea.

“You done?” Someone asked just as Loki wrenched himself away, pulling his hands back sluggishly, and turning to his side to get up, stumbling forward. Someone was in front of him, he could see their shoes, but they stepped out of the way in time for him to miss them, fall to his hands and knees and vomit. The bile was putrid and black.

“Jesus fuck, that’s disgusting,” said Stark from behind him.

He could hear both the women now, they were crying, oohing and awing at their saviors. They called them their heroes, they thanked them for saving their lives. All while Loki’s body trembled, his skin pricked with sweat, and his stomach continued to dry heave.

“Hey don’t forget about Clint, ok?” His ears were full of cotton now and he couldn’t make out who had said that.

He hoped to Fate’s that Barton was not poisoned. He could do it again, of course, but he didn’t want to. It was painful and it made him feel sick for days afterward.

His hands and legs trembled as he climbed the fire escape ladder to where Clint lay unconscious. There were several times where vertigo kicked in and he thought he would fall or throw up again. Once he was hovering over Clint he could see that the man was not poisoned but had a head wound, he must have fallen from one of the higher decks.

Loki rubbed his aching eyes, knelt and hovered a hand over Clint’s head wound. This one took much energy because the brain was a precarious thing and needed meticulous attention. In healing the brain, one was not setting the body _back_ to what it once was, before the injury, it was rapidly healing the injury. So if there were any issues with the brain and he didn’t pay attention, he would heal over them, but essentially leave a wound behind. So if a head wound was not catered to and merely forced to heal, the patient could be left with crippling brain damage. He can’t imagine he would be thanked for that. So he took his time and when he was done Clint was groaning and rolling to sit up.

Loki sat slouched in front of the newly healed Avenger, panting and holding an arm over his stomach, applying just enough pressure to quell the nausea.

“Holy shit!” Clint started, launching himself backward. “What the… what the holy fuck are you doing?” To his surprise the archer did not look angry as much as shocked. He supposed he couldn’t blame him for that, this was a wholly shocking

Loki swallowed and shook his head. “I was told to heal you,” he said, barely audible.

Clint nodded. “Oh, right, fuck I forgot about that. Umm… well, cool, yeah, thank you,” he said before standing and jumping off the deck without another word.

Loki sat there on the fire-escape trying to catch his breath, resting his cheek against the cool metal of the bars that made up the platforms railing. He watched as Captain America put the two women into a SHIELD car that would escort them to wherever they needed to go, her assumed. Iron man smacked the Captain’s butt before taking off—the good Captain looked scandalized. Loki assumed he would go home now, it was late, he had a wife if he remembered correctly.

Clint had gotten into the car with the two women, he’d slid into the passenger seat by the driver. The two men they had assumably been fighting were being loaded into squad cars. It wasn’t until Roger’s went to get onto his motorcycle that Loki realized he had no way home.

“Wait,” he said, sluggishly climbing his way up, his voice was too quiet, it sounded like the croak of a frog. He attempted to clear it. “Wait!” He said a little louder, but the Captain hadn’t heard him.

Roger’s swung his leg over his bike and took off before Loki could even get to the ground.

Shit.

He didn’t know where he was, how was he suppose to get back to the Sanctum. Strange could recall him, but he didn’t even know he’d been called out. It was late evening, neither the doctor or Wong would venture for his company this night. So he was stuck out here until morning when someone noticed, or he could ask around until someone told him where he was, and how to get to Bleaker Street.

It was cold and getting colder. The late autumn breeze snapped at his skin, and the sweatpants and sweatshirt did little to protect him from it. This was day one of the transportation charm and it was already horrible—right out of the proverbial gate it was horrible.

Loki groaned to himself before walking in the direction all the avengers had taken off in. He hoped to whatever merciful god that was out there that he was not far from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have four chapters edited, I will probably just post those today or once a day until they’re all posted. After that I will try to set up a publishing schedule. I’ve been cranking out about 3,000-6,000 a words a day on this story so hopefully that momentum sticks around.
> 
> Comments and kudos are, as always, cherished.


	3. Chapter 3

The new day saw Loki to the Sanctum doors roughly four and a half hours later. He was shivering uncontrollably as he waited at the doors, he was exhausted, and horribly cold. He’d knocked but no one had answered yet. He knew Levi, the enchanted cloak could answer, and likely did not sleep in the traditional sense, but the cloak, like the other two occupants of the manner, did not come.

“Strange, please,” he said to himself as he banged on the door once more.

Finally he heard foot steps and the large lock sliding back.

Please don’t be Wong.

Loki stepped back as the doors swung open to reveal an incredulous Wong. He’d like to imagine the monks hair would be haphazard from sleep if he had any, because he had very obviously just woken up.

Loki said nothing. He made eye contact only for the point of self preservation, to see an attack coming before it happened. He wanted to look away but knew he could not.

The monk stepped aside, his mouth pinched, eyebrows pressing down into his nose to make a deep wrinkle there. Loki watched him closely as he stepped inside.

“You are not to leave the sanctum, that is a rule.” The monk’s voice was a scarce whisper—a _hiss_ , really.

The accusation punched whatever he’d had prepared out and into the abyss, his mind blank. He looked at the monk but said nothing.

“Do not stay silent another moment, snake.”

Loki swallowed. He found his feet attempting desperately to transport him backward away from the seething monk. Just don’t look at him, he thought, just don’t look at him and he will leave. This never worked but his subconscious always reverted to that cope. “The avengers transported me, I-I didn’t… they left me out there, I didn’t know how else to get back. They left, so I just walked.” He knew the monk would not believe that the world’s ever-loved superheroes would abandon him out in the cold without a care. Such affronts on their character were unheard of.

“You expect me to believe that the avengers left a war criminal, a dangerous _lunatic_ out in the city alone?” A meaty finger jabbed him in the chest.

He wasn’t sure how he’d not seen that explanation coming.

Loki was still shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering audibly, having yet the opportunity to warm himself from the night spent out in the chill. “P-perhaps they forgot,” before the last word fully made it out of his mouth a hand was squeezing his jaw, bringing it low so that their noses nearly touched. His hand went to he monk’s wrist instinctively.

Anger cracked in the Nepali’s irises, teeth creaking audibly. Loki thought the tongue lashing would come then but in stead the man made a clicking noise and shoved his face away.

“I don’t know why they left me out there,” he said when the monk let him go. Loki rubbed his jaw. “M-maybe you lot should set up a better retrieval system so I can best per-perform as your…as your dog,” he knew he shouldn’t have said it before it even came out but once it was out he couldn’t stop it.

Wong’s eyes turned into pulsating saucers, he even thought he saw steam coming out of his ears. That amusing thought was cut short by the searing pain that enveloped his body soon afterward.

Loki dropped to the floor, his back arching unnaturally, veins popping, hands forced in a claw shape as his body went rigid. The consistent electric pulse was both excruciating and nauseating.

Above him Wong was holding the remote to the obedience disk. He’d thought Valkyrie had it but perhaps she gave it to them after the last meeting. The veins at Wong’s temples were popping, and one that went over the bridge of his nose which Loki had noticed some weeks ago when Wong first was angry at him for whatever trivial thing he’d done.

“Wong!” Came a shout from behind them. The monk did not respond to the voice, his eyes were glued to Loki. “What the hell is going on?” Strange came jogging over in his pajamas and evening coat. When Wong did’t respond the doctor looked between them before lifting a chain necklace from beneath his shirt and pushing a button on it.

Loki’s body instantly relaxed. He gasped for breath, coughed, and gulped at the air once more. He could hear the two men talking above him but he could not make out what they said. His blood was pulsing in his ears so loud it almost hurt. Loki slowly got to his hands and knees with just enough time to vomit on the floor. Apparently the sick earlier was not all the contents of his stomach.

Wong chastised him and told him he ought know _he_ would be cleaning that up, not Strange, and certainty not Wong.

Loki’s body shook, his stomach heaved but nothing more came out. He wanted to go to bed.

“Loki?” Strange asked, his voice was closer, right behind him, he thought. A warm hand rested on his back. He didn’t like being touched but he didn’t have the strength to get away. The hand moved in circles before patting him on the shoulder and cupping his upper arm. With the aid of Strange he was stood upright once more.

“What’s happened?” He asked.

“This wretch snuck out thinking he could walk right back in, the idiot. But he couldn’t, he got stuck out there in the cold, blithering…”

“That’s quite enough,” said Strange, holding up a placating hand. “Loki, why did you go out? Were you looking for something? Did you need something? You know, it’s not really safe for you, or allowed, really… at all… for you to be…” before he could finish his sentence Loki had pulled away from him. He hadn’t jerked away, he didn’t have the energy, but he stepped back and his arm fell out of Stephen’s grasp.

He couldn’t catch his breath. He thought perhaps Strange said something, but he didn’t catch it, someone touched his shoulder and the feeling jolted him back to reality just enough to instill in him a renewed sense of a panic. On the wave of that panic he skittered backward, hitting the corner of the wall, and ran down the hall. Both men called after him but he did not respond, and he definitely did not stop.

Slipping into his room he slammed the door shut, stumbled toward the closet, threw the door open, and crawled to his spot in the corner where there was a pillow and a blanket that smelled of him and it was the closest he came to comfort in years.

He could only have been asleep a few hours when he felt the gut wrenching thrill of falling—and landing on hard, wet asphalt. Loki pushed himself up quickly, scrambling back so he wasn’t exposed. He hit something metallic, he knew by the wobbling clang that sounded when he hit it with his back.

Valkyrie stood before him hands on her hips, smirking.

“Come, rat, a home has burned down and people are injured.” With that she had turned around, assuming Loki would follow her.

The young god stood quickly as he was able, treading in her foot steps, stifling a yawn. He’d only had this job one day and he already hated it more than anything he’d ever done in his life.

Apparently a row of houses had caught on fire. Someone had been sweating the copper pipes and the home’s had caught in the night. Thankfully there were few injuries as the houses were unoccupied. Those injured were the men and women who had gathered in the panic to put the fires out and save what they could of the homes.

The crackling of a simmering fire, and the warm scent of burned wood engulfed the entire village of New Asgard. Much of the inhabitants seemed to still be in their homes. Perhaps they had come out to observe the fire rage but now that it was nothing more than cinder they had dispersed and it was only a handful of people sitting on the steps of the great hall.

Valkyrie waved to them with a raised hand that neither teetered to the left nor right. There was five men and a woman on the steps, they all looked tired but only the woman looked worried. She must be the wife of one of them, Loki concluded.

“Why is _he_ here?” One of the men sneered, jerking a thumb at Loki.

Loki knew his fellow Asgardian’s took little liking to him, current events aside, they did not have a fond history with one another. But he had helped save them, had destroyed Asgard by releasing Sutur so they could flee. He had _brought the ship that was their parcel to freedom_. They had seemingly forgotten that, because how they looked at him now was as if he were a pest; some sort of small disease ridden creature that ate garbage and carrion.

“I brought him here to heal you and Taron, then he will leave.”

“I rather heal slowly on my own than by the hands of the destroyer of Asgard,” said, assumably, the brother.

Loki gawked at him incredulously. He _had_ to destroy Asgard, it was the only choice at the time. Thor had _told_ him to. What did they want from him? He could do no right in their eyes, even in saving their miserable lives.

“Are you certain? Both of you?” asked Brunhilde earnestly. Either brother nodded, glancing at Loki in what only could be described as unveiled disgust.

“Asgard aside, I wouldn’t have erge hands on me.” One brother said, and the other nodded.

Valkyrie laughed, turning back to Loki. “He does have suspiciously feminine features,” said she.

“Go see the healers then.” With that the five men and the woman started across town to see Freira, Loki assumed.

Valkyrie started up the steps of the hall, ignoring Loki entirely. Thunder clapped in the distance and it began to drizzle. He thought to ask after Thor but was afraid of the response. The rejection.

Loki shook the sleep from his head. “Valkyrie,” he called after her but did not move to follow.

She stopped in her tracks but did not turn around. “What is it, snake?”

Loki ground his teeth at the nickname. She had taken to calling him all kinds of things since they met. Some were ignored by Thor, others he laughed at and would look at Loki apologetically afterward as if that made it better. As if that made Loki feel he was not once again being looked over for someone else. His brother was not, for the umpteenth time, choosing _anyone_ over Loki. Because who would choose Loki?

“I wish to go back,” he said, his tone flat.

The warrior sighed. “And I wish to sleep. I’ve had an exhausting day, gnat, I’ll send you back tomorrow.”

Before Loki could utter another syllable she was in the hall and the doors were shut. It rained harder now, giant drops of freezing rain beating down and dimpling the soil. Loki hunched his shoulders and hugged his chest in a desperate attempt to keep warm, though he knew it was in vain. Perhaps they would not mind if he slept just inside the door, he thought.

Ascending the stairs he grabbed the iron handle to the door but before he could leverage it open he yelped and pulled his hand back quickly. He gritted his teeth against the pain. The design of the iron handle was imprinted on his palm and fingers, the flesh blistered and burned.

“It’s charmed,” said a voice from behind him. Loki started and whirled around, stumbling down several steps before stopping some feet away from the newcomer. Only it wasn’t a newcomer it was one of the brother’s who had been wounded in the fire.

The man sized Loki up pointedly before taking just enough steps upward that he was taller than Loki. “It only allows Asgardians to enter unless invited,” he said through a cruel smirk. He shook his head and laughed under his breath and turned to crack open the door enough to slip inside, unburned.

It would not allow Loki inside because he was not an Asgardian. Neither was that his race, nor was it his patronage—not any longer. He was Loki of Nowhere. His stomach clenched painfully, he felt ill though he knew if he were to vomit that nothing would come out. His throat felt constricted and his eyes burned. He wanted to hide away, to never be seen again, to never feel again. In that moment Loki wished he were dead. Better dead than be nothing as he was now.

The rain battered at him now, as if punishing him for his existence. The only silver lining was that now he could cry without shame, nature’s shower would wash all remnants of his weakness away.

Loki walked the rest of the way down the steps, and sat curled up in the corner where the stairs met the great halls front wall. He feared hiding away and missing his opportunity to query Valkyrie for a trip home. He wished so badly his magic wasn’t restricted so he could do it himself. He hoped Wong wouldn’t find out he was missing. Or perhaps he did not wish that, perhaps Wong would find out soon and alert Strange, and Strange could bring him back. After their chastising he could participate in blissful sleep and hope to the Fate’s that no one called on him for a couple of hours.

Loki awoke to a dryer world, and a sharp kick to the ribs. Before he could wake his body and mind the same boot pressed against his face, imprinting it into the mud beneath. A pathetic whimper escaped him without his consent, and the cruel laughter that followed—thankfully only from one person—was enough to heat his cheeks to an intolerable degree.

“Rise and shine, you piece of shit,” said Valkyrie, her foot leaving his cheek with one last shove.

Loki slowly rose to a sitting position but he did not lift his eyes to meet hers. “May I go home now,” he asked, his tone exhausted, voice like grit from disuse.

The shield maiden barked a laugh, and knelt in front of him, arms resting somehow threateningly on her knees. “Rat’s don’t have homes, Lackey. Not really,” she said, inspecting her nails. “They scurry about from bin to bin, eating other peoples shit, until one day they die.” Her smile was thin, and as always, vindictive.

He said nothing. Of course he said nothing. He did not look at her, but he knew she could sense his emotions making a racket inside his ribcage.

Without another word he was whirling through nothingness and falling hard on his side on a clean wood floor, its wax finish gleaming irritably.

“Dear god,” that was Strange. He waited to hear the grumbling and growling of the feral Wong but none came; Strange seemed to be mercifully alone. A hand was around his arm before he’d even gathered his thoughts, gently hauling him to his feet—or rather—attempting to. Loki couldn’t force himself to strengthen his body to stand. His legs shook, he felt like vomiting for the millionth time that day—was it still the same day? What day was it? He just wanted to sleep.

Strange sighed and settled the lighter man on the floor, crumpled and muddy and wet, his lank hair hanging in muddied plaits in his face. Like mumbled a request but it was inaudible to even his own ears.

“What was that?”

The god inhaled shakily. His lips made their first attempt at forming the consonant required to state his request, but it softened on his tongue, stuttered, and then finally bubbled into a sob. “P-please…” he began, his voice cracking. Loki wiped a muddy hand across his exhausted face. “Please may I sleep,” he sobbed.

Against his better judgment, Strange’s heart pinged. He would later blame it on simple human decency.

“Come,” was all he said before wrapping both arms around the mangy Asgardian, and pulling a sparking portal over them so they would arrive without effort to Loki’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos fulfill my need for validation and attention.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day brought a fuming Director Fury to the Sanctum. Apparently one of the avengers had tried to call on Loki and it didn’t work. The director’s one good eye was almost pulsing; the veins that snaked within it feeling the hot rush of anger.

“I removed the charm.”

“Why on this mother fucking green goddamn earth would you do a sunuvuhbitch thing like that, Strange?”

Stephen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, already exhausted from this conversation. “The man hasn’t properly slept in days, he looks ill, he’s manic…”

“Forgive me if I don’t give a _shit_ how Loki, the earth invading alien war lord—feels right the fuck now,” Fury interrupted.

“And I don’t care that you don’t care. He’s my charge. You relinquished power of guardianship to me.”

“Because I thought you were on our side. Was I wrong?”

“Were you wrong?” Stephen was nearly fuming. “I dedicate my life to safeguarding the planet. More than you will ever know, and more than you have ever done, I assure you this. Loki is _not_ a threat. His magic is bound, he’s complied to your punishment, he’s serving you as you required.”

“He’s not, you took the charm off.”

“ _Momentarily._ So that he may rest! We need to find a different way to go about this. You lot can’t be calling him to you while he’s sleeping, for god’s sake.”

Fury seemed unmoved.

“How about… you all still have the ability to summon him to you but it’s only used in emergencies. Other wise you call me and _I_ will send him, and then he can call me to bring him back.” Strange watched the Director for interruption but when none came he soldiered on. “This has been _twice_ now he was summoned and not returned to us. He walked for hours in the cold, alone last night because your dear avengers forgot him. This morning he was soaking wet and covered in mud, sick as a proverbial dog.” There was a pregnant pause where both men just stared imploringly at each other. “I will not allow this to continue. Period.”

Fury grit his teeth audibly, his jaw clicking. “Well, how long has he had to sleep? Because we would like to have your precious prince do his fucking job now.” The man’s voice was irritably condescending to such a height that Strange had to manually suffocate the urge within himself to not reach over and throttle the agent.

“I’m not sure—some time, I suppose,” Strange said through gritted teeth.

Before the last word even left his mouth the other man was waltzing out of the room headed toward the hall by the front door where Loki’s bedroom was. Every one of the Avenger’s and all of SHIELD knew prior to Loki’s arrival here where he would stay because it had been discussed about heavily. Tony Stark had come with his team to outfit the room with heavy surveillance equipment, as well as any and all other rooms Loki was allowed in—which was only the main hall, the formal library, and the kitchen. Strange had been vocally opposed but acquiesced, he knew he had to harbor Loki it was his duty, and this was but another cost.

“Fury, goddamnit!” Strange hissed as he followed quickly behind the black clad agent.

Loki’s door was flung open, startling the young god, who jumped up from his position on the floor at the foot of the bed. With every step Fury took toward him Loki matched it with a step backward until Fury was upon him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him out of the room. Loki’s face was a mixture of shock and resignation.

“Come on, princess.”

“He hasn’t even eaten since coming home the last time. Fury surely you can see sense,” Strange implored, trailing behind them.

The agent rounded on him, one eyebrow crooked, Loki held tightly in the other hand; his face pinched. “He’s a god—he’ll be fine.” With that Loki was dragged out the front door into a black suburban with windows so heavily tinted they looked painted black.

Loki found himself thrown down into a chair on an all too familiar _quinjet_ and roughly buckled in. His hands had been zip-tied together, which everyone must know was unnecessary since he cannot harm them, bound by magic not to, and even if that was not specified—his magic was locked away, save for healing and petty non violent charms. Basically his magical abilities were rendered to medical aid and the trivial time passers of young children new to seidre.

Loki kept his head down the entire time in the car, and now as they loaded the quinjet. He saw legs and boots and nothing more, he had no inclination of who else was on the jet aside from nameless feet which shuffled by him in pairs. The only face he saw somewhat clearly was the male agent leaning over him buckling his harness.

The same man now grabbed his jaw roughly, pushed his head back, smacking it against the wall hard enough for Loki to see a burst of stars, and slapped tape over his mouth. Once the man’s hand was gone Loki jerked his head away, hunched his shoulders and attempted to sink into the wall behind him out of sight.

The agents across from Loki snickered but otherwise said nothing. He was glad of his long hair which hid his face.

They landed gently on the tarmac a few hours later, though Loki had no idea where. The agents filed off one by one, save for three whom stayed on the ship in the cockpit. None approached him, though. He was left in his seat, bound and gagged waiting to be useful.

He didn’t have to wait long until the distinct red and gold metallic suit of Iron Man was standing in front of him. He couldn’t tell if the Avenger had his faceplate up or down because he could not see his face from this advantage. Stark stood there for a moment saying nothing.

“You ready?” The man finally asked.

Loki nodded.

“M’kay, up ya get, Charon.” The harness was undone and the metal gauntlets of Stark’s suits wrapped their cool fingers around his arms and hauled him upward.

Loki proffered his bound hands out, silently asking for them to be loosed.

Stark was silent for a beat.

“Can uh… can you perform your voudou with them like that?”

Loki paused and internally sighed a withered in defeat. Yes, he could technically heal with his hands bound—he could also eat with his hands bound, and bathe, but he was not a dog, he was not an _animal—_ yet they treated him like one without a second thought. Loki nodded, and dropped his hands without asking anything further. He couldn’t do anything to them, why were they so bent on making every waking second of this punishment a living hell?

“Well… cool. Uh… sweet, well, let’s get you to… to the place where you do your things,” Stark said lamely, pushing Loki forward with one hand.

Apparently he would do this with bound ands and a silent tongue. Spells were much harder to perform when one could not utter them, not that these human’s would know that. They wanted him to heal people but deliberately hindered him from doing just that. Surely he would be punished for doing a poor job, yet it was their doing that lessened the quality of the work.

“Steve’s looking for you,” came a familiar voice. It was a voice Loki continuously felt conflicted every time he heard it, and every time he saw the man. He both feared the voice, and yearned for its comfort. The comfort he had received when the man was under the mind stone’s spell as he was.

“Clint,” Stark greeted.

“Steve’s looking for you,” repeated the archer. “I’m at the triage tent, I can take Loki.” He reached a hand out to grasp Loki’s forearm, surprisingly gentle. His tone was so convincingly earnest that even Loki stumbled upon interpreting it.

A pregnant pause momentarily built tension between the three of them.

Stark cleared his throat. “Fuck it, what do I care. Uh yeah, have at it, I have shit to do anyway.” With that Stark dropped his faceplate and extended his hands to take off. “Have fun!” Was all he said before lifting off and flying away.

Stark’s language seemed pointed and it did nothing to quell Loki’s paranoia.

Clint sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “What a dick,” he said, turning to Loki. The god glanced up at him briefly. The other man was shorter than he but in his constant cowering stance with his shoulders tucked against his ears he seldom saw anyone’s face. Clint brought a hand to his chin and lifted his head up. Loki thought he would see malcontent on the other man’s face but he was only frowning in concentration.

“Well, you look like absolute shit,” he said, though it did not seem malicious. A hand came up to slowly peel away the tape on his mouth. “Remind me to staple this to Fury’s bald ass head,” he said about the tape he’d folded in half in his hand.

The word ‘ _faggot_ ’ was scrolled across the tape in black marker. Loki had yet to hear that word but upon reading it now the Allspeak provided him with ‘erge’ and ‘argre’ and he wondered how even here on this foreign planet where they did not have the same social standards as Asgard did he still get labeled as a dishonorable femme.

“There are many wounded but only a few so severe that you should heal them,” Clint said as they walked.

Loki said nothing.

Clint eyed him curiously but the god did not take notice.

“Are you… uh… fuck,” Clint blew air from his cheeks. “Are you ok? You don’t look ok.” The archer sounded genuinely concerned, which baffled the god.

This must have shown clearly on his confused face because Clint went on to attempt an explanation.

“I remember seeing into your mind, you know. I uh…” he cleared his throat, “I remember knowing that sometimes it was you and sometimes it was… _not_ you.”

Loki stumbled on a rock or his own foot, he couldn’t be sure. Clint caught him with a hand on his arm and one on his chest before he could tumble to the ground. Clint’s hand did not leave his chest once he was righted. The hand lingered for a second as if it were feeling him.

“You haven’t gained much weight since the invasion,” said Clint. “You talk a lot less though,” he attempted to sound light and amusing, assumably to break the ice, but it did not work. “Though I guess when you were _you,_ you didn’t talk much then either.”

Clint began their short trek to the makeshift hospital once more, leaving Loki to trail behind him, though Loki did not linger and stayed close once they were walking.

The thinner man cleared his throat and self consciously pulled his sleeves over his hands so he could thumb the hem anxiously. “You…you know that I did not come to your realm of my own volition?” Loki ventured tentatively, prepared both for being ignored, or being stricken down.

Neither happened.

Clint took a deep breath and blew it out in one go, the condensation creating a cloud of white wisps on the air. “Yeah, bud.” He sighed again and made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “Before you ask, I did tell them; the Avengers, SHIELD, _Fury_.” He stopped now and turned to Loki. They were almost uncomfortably close, or it should have been uncomfortable but both men still harbored the feeling of safety with one another as they had under the stone’s thrall. Against their better judgement that niggling feeling of familiarity with one another was present.

Loki glanced at him but no sooner did he do that that he quickly glanced away and kept his eyes on the ground or his hands as they so often were. His hair, ever a protective shield from the outside world, hung around his face just enough to obscure it. It was also enough to obscure a tentative hand reaching up to brush it over his shoulder so that the archer may better see his face.

The warm hand grazed his neck but did not linger. “I don’t know why they’re doing what they’re doing. They made a point not to tell me shit about it.” There was quiet between them, it was not tense though, as much of his experiences were with people. “How ‘bout you go heal somebody and I’ll go get you food,” Clint said resolutely.

Once Loki nodded, stiff and unsure, Clint nodded and patted the god on the back, this time his hand did linger a moment. Loki avoided physical contact with others, he always had since he could remember, but this time when the hand left he immediately missed its presents.

Dozens of people were injured, but as indicated before, many of them would heal easily on their own, if not with minimal Midgardian medical aid. Some, however, had broken bones, and burns, something their medical doctors could help to heal but their body would never be the same. To those patients is where Loki was indicated.

He’d healed two men before Clint was back with provisions. When Loki was clearly struggling to stand, his skin beaded with sweat, and his eyes drooping, Clint grabbed him from under the arm and around his back to guide him to a corner of the room where there was no one to interrupt them.

“I brought soup, and crackers, and I brought you these,” he said, dropping a bag of clothes onto the ground. Loki made no indication of moving to grab the clothes or the food. He sat where Clint told him to sit and said nothing, and did nothing.

“Do you… your covered in sweat and blood, bud, I don’t think you should stay in those clothes. They’re also clearly the clothes you were wearing last time you helped us.” Clint attempted to say the last bit in a joshing tone but Loki still did not react, he didn’t even look up at him.

Clint sighed and knelt in front of the god. “I’m gonna pull one of those dividers over here and help you get dressed, k? So don’t… don’t freak out or anything.” Without a word of confirmation from Loki, not that Clint expected one at this point, he jogged over to a wall where fabric sheets were clipped to aluminum frames and rolled one over in front of Loki.

Clint was relieved that Loki did not sit there like an inanimate rag doll when he pulled his sweatshirt off. The man helped him get the clothes off as much as he could but Barton could tell his exhaustion had reached an incapacitating level. Now with his layers off Clint could see how painfully thin the other man was. He had been of a slight build when they’d first met but nothing like this.

The archer pulled the new green sweater shirt over the god’s head, brushing his hair out of his face clumsily. Once his arms were through, a bowl was in front of his face, the archer shaking a spoon and a bag of crackers next to it.

“You’ll feel better once you eat.”

Loki didn’t think so, but he took the proffered meal anyway. He _was_ hungry, and the thought of hurting the man’s feelings in any way didn’t quite sit right.

“Thank you,” said Loki, his voice barely audible.

“Yeah, um… yeah, you’re welcome. I hope…” Barton trailed off momentarily. “I don’t know. Anyway, eat up. I’ll come back later.”

Loki found himself in relative quiet. The sweatshirt smelled of detergent—the same that Clint smelled of, now that he thought of it. He wondered if this was the man’s change of clothes, brought with him for when the fighting ended. If it had been anyone else Loki would have assumed it was a trick, or a ruse, something meant to get him into trouble, or get him hurt. But from Clint something subconscious in him knew it was only out of kindness.

He ate the soup in silence, hoping desperately that for just a moment no one would bother him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the edited chapters I have. So may be a longer gap between the next chapters.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bad, it’s been a weird autumn/winter for me. Anyway here is an update, and already editing chapter 6 so hopefully that’s up soon. 
> 
> Not beta’d and gosh darn barely edited.

Soon after he had eaten and changed, a portal of orange flaring sparks appeared before him and a tired looking Dr. Strange stepped out, his expression both exhausted and vexed.

“Come, Loki,” said Strange, his eyes scanning the surrounding room as if looking for someone—Fury perhaps.

Without question or query Loki stood, grabbed his dirty clothes off the floor, and hurried through the portal.

“They will be angry,” Loki said under his tone, almost inaudible.

“Fury is always angry,” said Strange indifferently, walking passed Loki and the now closed portal.

The man did not look at Loki once since retrieving him, it put Loki on edge. Perhaps that was irrational but he couldn’t help it. His safety hinged on Strange not getting sick of him, it was imperative the man was content with him, if nothing else. Had he done something wrong? Maybe. He couldn’t remember anything specific. Maybe he was making too much trouble with Wong. Strange and Wong were close friends, it was reasonable that Wong being upset would upset the good doctor. Or perhaps the consistent issues with SHIELD was becoming to trying and not worth his time.

Loki chewed at his lip nervously, a habit he tried for years to break but could never achieve. Habits implemented out of anxiety were difficult to break when one was always anxious. And Loki was always anxious. His mind never took a break from irrational paranoia and anxiety. Constantly psychoanalyzing and over analyzing.

“What are you doing?” Strange’s voice, tense in its tone, broke through his train of thought.

Loki’s head snapped up to look at the man. “Nothing,” he said curtly.

Strange threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry for asking, only you looked as though your thoughts were eating you alive. I could hear you thinking from clear over here.”

With that small intrusive slew of comments Loki was immediately on the defensive. His shoulders hiked up to his ears, his head bowing, his brow furrowed. He looked like an irritated cat, Strange thought.

“May I go to my room?” Asked Loki, barely audible.

Strange sighed and rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately no, I have to run some tests on you for SHIELD.”

Loki’s head snapped up again, eyes wide as saucers. Strange could see the fear in those green eyes. He also saw the slighter man shuffle backward, arms coming up to hug his chest as if they were a wall, a barrier between Strange and him that could protect him, a barrier between him and the _world._

“I’m sorry, I really am, but it has to get done, and it’s me or a SHIELD agent. Was I safe to assume you rather me do it?” Even Strange himself cringed at how patronizing he sounded. Loki was young but he was not a child.

“I don’t want to,” Loki grumbled, his fingers nervously ribbing a fold of his shirt between them.

Strange was glad he had not made the child comment out loud, or he would have to now take it back as _speaking too soon_.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to, I wish it did, but it doesn’t.”

An hour later and they found themselves in Stephen’s study performing previously stated medical exam. It had taken such a length of time to get here because Loki excused himself to the bathroom wherein he proceeded to not come out for an entire hour. When Strange finally magicked the door open Loki was sitting with his knees up in the empty bathtub, staring at his nails as though they grew ten tiny heads of their own.

Now Loki sat on a robustly cushioned wingback in his office, arm palm up on the table, waiting. His expression of discontent did not change until Strange slipped a needle under his skin and into a vein and only then did it briefly change to one of pain, before promptly changing back to discontent.

Stephen referred to a list on his phone of what they needed. Mostly it was just blood. Lots of it. An unreasonable amount which Strange would explain to them was not possible. Or rather it _was_ possible but it would leave Loki unable to perform his one job of healing, amongst other things. The list also required a rectal exam. Strange huffed at that knowing it was there just to mess with Loki. He would lie about that one. After he read on the invoice that they wanted a skin graph he made a guttural sound of disgust in the back of his throat and turned the phone off.

Loki watched him from his slumped position in his chair. Though it perhaps was more accurate to say Loki _scrutinized_ him; the other man frowned perpetually. How sour Loki was as an adult made Stephen curious of how the other man was as a child, or as a teenager—whatever _child_ and _teenager_ respectively meant in his world. He could not fathom the image of Loki as a young boy, happy, energetic, playing soldiers, the very idea seemed obnoxious just to amuse.

Suddenly he feels the urgency of that curiosity get the better of him, and before he can stop himself, asked: “What were you like as a child, Loki?”

The physically younger man’s frown deepened impossibly, though this time it seemed to be in thought. His pale green eyes darted up to snatch a glance at Strange’s face, to gauge the situation by the look of Strange’s expression.

After a moment he shrugged one shoulder, hands clasped now between his legs. “I don’t know… quiet, I suppose.”

“Shocking,” said Stephen, cringing internally right after the words left his mouth. Loki’s shoulders rose to his ears instinctively, frown deepening, his lips tightened and moved to one side. One comment and the other man shut down immediately. Momentarily Stephen wanted to chastise Loki, and rationalize himself but he knew that was unjust. He knew Loki was not one to open up quickly, and was most definitely one to shut down fast if his vulnerabilities were prodded at. He knew that and he did it anyway and so he could neither judge nor ridicule the man for acting this way.

“I’m sorry,” Strange said after a moment, his voice soft and imbued with meaning. “Truly, I don’t know why I said that—I’m a sarcastic person by nature.” With a penchant for risk he decided to rest an earnest—though crippled—hand on Loki’s knee. The god did not move away but his leg did start with the sudden contact, and his green eyes stared at the hand as if it were a weapon. “I’m sorry, Loki. I should not have said that.” he repeated, emphasizing the genuineness.

The slighter man shrugged. He shrugged a lot, Stephen thought. “It’s fine. May I please be excused?” His tone was clipped and he would not look at Strange.

Strange could have strangled himself. Loki had started to talk to him, had willingly told him how he was as a child, without any attitude, without resisting, he had just said it as if he were _comfortable_ and Stephen ruined it like an absolute idiotic clown.

Stephen pursed his lips thoughtfully before nodding resolutely and standing. “Yes, of course. Enjoy the rest of your day, Loki.”

The young god stood stiffly and walked out the door, his posture rigid. Stephen watched him go with a sense of missed opportunity. He hated that feeling. Those were the feelings where he could not help but idle and think retrospectively about all the things he could have done differently. This time was no different.

When Loki had first come here, though it was his idea, he had still been cautious, and had entered into it assuming he did not like Loki. That of course changed quickly. Loki was prickly but if one was not a sensitive sort than Loki was actually easy to like. He was intelligent beyond reason, charming when he wanted to be, educated—handsome. The last adjective had Stephen shaking his head as if it would dislodge the idea from there.

Of course the attempt to shirk the thought only made him think of it more, and harder. He found himself realizing he had never seen Loki say anything, or act in any way that would indicate where he lay sexually. Perhaps he was not sexual at all? Strange had never known an asexual personally but the idea was reasonable.

Now he was horribly and dangerously curious. He couldn’t just ask Loki, though, he knew at least that. The man was skittish on his best days. He would have to provide opportunities to watch how Loki reacted to them. They would have to be extremely discrete, happen as naturally as possible, because he had come to know Loki and he knew he would discern the falsehood if it was there.

Why was he always a joke to everyone. Everything he felt. Everything he talked about. No matter how serious it was to him, it was always so easily shrugged off by everyone else. His interests explained in excitement to his father made the man smirk and nod placatingly before informing him he would soon have to acquire more serious occupations. His brother laughed readily at anything he said, no matter how serious it felt to him, and his friends were not different. Even his mother often pushed his wants and worries to the side in the name of keeping the peace.

Now he was in a new world where they claimed to have a progressive culture and still he was laughed at. The man had _asked him the bloody question_ , and still… Loki forcibly threw the thoughts from his mind and resolved to go to his room and read a book, any book. He was reading one called Human Bondage, currently; a classic he was told. It was good thus far, he liked the voice of the writer.

Stepping into his room he toed his shoes off and tore off his sweatshirt; it was strangely hot in his room all the time, almost sweltering, and he could never figure out how to adjust it. Barefoot and minutely cooler now, he grabbed the book off the side table and crawled onto the bed to curl up and lie down.

Before he had even sat down he was transported so roughly, and so brutally, that upon arrival, falling first from at least fifteen feet up onto a hard floor, he groaned and vomited up the contents of his stomach.

Whoever had aperated him here it had not been Strange. Or if it was Strange it was done intentionally and the man was very angry with him.

Two black laced boots stepped in front of his face.

“Welcome back, princess.”

Loki looked up to find Fury grinning at him like the cat that caught the mouse. And he supposed he did, didn’t he. But how did he transport him here? Strange had told him the link was gone.

“Wondering how we got your slimes ass here?” The director said knowingly and with no small amount of contempt.

Loki did not indicate he wanted to know, he did not even lift his head from hovering shakily over his own sick.

“Mm, I bet you the fuck are. See, we have our own doers of magic.” He might have indicated to someone but Loki could not see them.

Someone hauled him up by his shirt to face Fury.

“You broke the terms of your contact, Loki,” said Fury, smacking his cheek in a mockery of affection. “So unfortunately we were forced to break out agreement with Strange.”

Loki’s stomach dropped, and before it hit whatever bottom of whatever pit it was plummeting down, it twisted and curdled and soured until he felt in physical pain. He did not know Strange well but the man had never treated him poorly—in fact he had treated him better than any of the others had.

“Now. Go do,” Fury began, grabbing Loki’s face in his large hand, “your _fucking job,”_ the man’s jaw was clenched so tight his teeth squeaked. He shoved Loki’s head aside roughly and walked beyond them.

Loki saw none of the Avengers, he saw no familiar faces at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Loki had been awake for so long that his mind began resting while he was working. All of a sudden he would jerk as if waking up suddenly, only he was upright and active and most definitely not asleep. Like his brain had just momentarily shut off to save energy or something. Once he woke, his veins would swell painfully with adrenaline which would quickly drain away into the pulsating, sweating feeling of anxiety and paranoia. He couldn’t remember the last half hour, on some occasions the entire hour. On the worst occasions he would wake in places he did not remember going.

He knew none of the Avengers harbored any love for him, but upon their absence he found his desperate mind fantasying that they would show up and their deeply engrained moral code would defend him against Fury. He knew this was horribly naïve but he was exhausted and maudlin and couldn’t help the fantastical directions his mind took.

Dr. Strange did not show up either. This, unlike the Avengers fantasy, was genuinely puzzling to him. He had rescued him thrice now from Fury’s, and by extension SHIELD’s, poor handling, but this time he was nowhere to be found. Even if he had offended the man he was sure his own integrity would see that he saw his task of harboring Loki through to the end. He had calculated the man previously as the sort that would do exactly that—perhaps he had been wrong.

Loki started when someone shouted his name. Darting his head around he finally saw a male agent with a balaclava over his face waving him down. The man was kneeling beside the embankment of the fortress behind a short row of neatly trimmed shrubbery; his head and upper torso visible.

“Agent down. Chest wound. Be quick,” the agent gave the bullet points of the situation like a grocery list. The aforementioned agent was lying on the ground at the man’s knees, his breathing laborious and his eyes squeezed shut. Blood seeped from between his uniform and the gap of his tactical vest where there was only muscle and sinew to absorb a bullet. Nothing serious, but nothing very comfortable either.

Loki chewed his lip. He found the effort of speaking difficult at this point in his mental demise but persisted anyway. “I…I am not sure I will be able to,” his voice was like water, mixing together, seeping into everything it touched, having no points and no boundaries.

The agents eyes narrowed. “You don’t save him, I kill you. That’s how simple this is.”

Loki nodded as if to say _yes of course, I fully understand, I do apologize_. He hoped his face looked earnest. “I understand, only…” he swallowed painfully, the little amount of saliva in his mouth going down like glass. Wincing he continued. “My abilities have been exhausted. I am depleted.” He was pretty sure that’s what he wanted to say.

“What happens if you overexert?”

Loki looked at the agents face then, realizing he had looked away. “Well… well, I don’t know. I could go into a comatose state? Die?” He did know, he had done it before, several times, but in this new life of his he often found that when questioned he became quickly confused and second guessed himself—even on matters he had previously sworn to knowing by heart.

“You don’t do it, _I’ll_ kill you. So just fucking try.”

The god chewed his lip nervously before nodding and kneeling beside the agent, hovering his hands over the wound and closing his eyes. He tried desperately to push past the exhaustionand the fear and the morose weight of just wanting everything to stop.

He had been squatting on the balls of his feet but upon entering the healing practices his posture had begun to slouch. He started when his knees his the floor, sending a panicked glance at the agent observing him. The man looked alarmed, or so Loki thought, but then again he could only see his eyes.

The wound was almost healed. If he were to have eaten and rested he could have healed this wound quickly and with ease, but as it were he was struggling to fasten the tendons and muscle back together. He was sure most the important things were done when he finally let his leaden hands fall to the ground beside him.

“I cannot… I cannot continue. He will not die or bleed much,” Loki panted. “I think it is only—only the skin that did not suture.”

“You mean you didn’t heal him?” Said the agent. He did not sound especially angry, but often none of them did. They were either hot with emotion, or they were apathetic, but still prone to violence either way.

Loki shook his head and unsteadily got to his feet, stumbling a little. He was quickly reminded his feet were still bare when he stepped back on something sharp. “He is well, he will survive, but you might still put something on it for infection.”

To his blessed reprieve the agent seemed placated by this, shrugged, and shewed Loki away. Or rather, he turned his back on him and ignored his presence, assuming he would make his exit without further ceremony.

Loki made his way to a concrete wall that seemed to have no purpose, and sat behind it so that the embankment of the building SHIELD had assaulted was between him. His feet were numb, he was bitterly could. He’d never regretted taking off a sweatshirt so much in his life, more so than the shoes. The shoes could be rationalized because who doesn’t take their shoes off in bed, but the sweatshirt he couldn’t help but beat himself up over, because he so seldom takes the thing off. Of course the one time he does Fury transports him to a winter wasteland.

He could feel himself dozing when someone smacked the side of his head none to lightly. “Up, we’re leaving.” Before Loki could open his eyes to see who it had been, the agent had his back turned and was walking away.

A flight strapped in a plain, and a long car ride in traffic saw them to the more remote countryside, and the paved parkway of the Avenger compound. Loki wanted to ask what he was doing here, and when he could go back ho…to the Sanctum, but he did not. He was sure nothing would come out if he even tried to speak.

The door on his side opened and Fury stood there waving him out. He hadn’t noticed Fury leave the vehicle. He should pay better attention. It was dangerous to be to distracted.

“Any day now, princess.”

Loki hurriedly stepped out of the car—or as hurriedly as his body was able. The once graceful god was now stumbling over his own feet, his movements jerky and stiff.

When inside they took the elevator up which Loki was singularly thankful for. He wasn’t sure he would have made it up a set of stairs.

The elevator doors opened into an open room with large windows that faced the forested horizon. The cool light washed the room in a soothing autumnal ambiance which in any other circumstance Loki would have enjoyed.

The god kept his arms crossed and tucked securely against his chest, his chin lowered, and his shoulders up. He could tell there were other occupants in the room, though not how many, or their identity.

“Uh… what it do, pop-eye?” Came Stark’s voice.

When they had come in there had been conversation, and movement, and the sound of food being made; something cold because there was no enticing smell of a hot cooked meal.

“You all know our favorite fallen god,” said Fury, clasping a heavy hand on Loki’s neck, and shaking him slightly. Loki startled but made no effort to move out from under the threatening weight.

“Gosh, sure do, hard to forget. What uh… what are you doing here? With him, I mean?”

“Strange has broken his contract with us so Loki is no longer in his care.”

“No,” came Stark’s voice again.

“Shut up,” said Fury.

“No. _No._ Give him back to his brother.”

“ _Tony,_ ” reprimanded Captain Rogers.

Loki still did not raise his head.

“Thought about it. Can’t.”

“It’s fine, this is fine,” said Rogers, interrupting another of Stark’s no doubt colorful refusals.

Rogers walked toward them, he was wearing soft clothes and white trainers. A warm hand wrapped around Loki’s bare bicep and before he could control himself he started, pulled the arm out of the Captain’s grasp, stepped backward reflexively right into a permanently scowling Director Fury, who in turn cursed and squeezed his neck so hard Loki saw spots in his vision and his knees buckled.

He hit the ground hard and aside from holding his own hand up to his offended neck, did not move to right himself. If he tried he would only fall down again—he was too tired. His body ached just thinking about rising again.

Fury made a sound of disgust and stepped away as if Loki were slime or trash or dog shit.

Rogers stepped in front of Loki and knelt down, though he did not force the god to look at him, nor did he attempt to make eye contact in any other way. “I’m sorry I touched you, I should have asked,” he said in a hushed voice only they could hear. “I’m gonna help you up, okay? If you help out I should only have to grab your arm.”

Loki swallowed visibly and nodded.

In a more normal, and louder voice the Captain said, “Why don’t we get you on the sofa,” before aiding Loki’s to his feet and guiding him to the oddly pristine gray modern sectional. Time seemed not to lapse at all but suddenly the Captain was back, though he had not noticed him leave, and in his hand he proffered a plastic water bottle, icy condensation pearling on its surface. “Drink that slow. I have a non-steroidal for you, but you’ll have to eat something with it. Toast alright?”

Loki frowned. He knew Rogers was speaking to him, he knew the words were good and accurate, he knew he understood the words, but for some reason he still felt confused.

His incapacitation must have been clear to see because Rogers only breathed through his nose audibly, smiled a genuine smile, if not a pitying one, and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Loki made no indication that he heard him.

“Butter him up harder, Rogers,” scoffed Fury.

“There’s no where for him to stay,” said Stark.

“This is a compound where dozens of people live.”

“Yeah dozens of rooms filled with those dozens of people. Theres no rooms available.”

“You have four rooms available, I checked,” Fury pointed out.

Stark made a guttural noise of frustration. “Yeah, we also constantly have recruits trying out and staying in said rooms, that’s why they’re always available. We have _two_ recruits coming permanently from Xavier’s. So that’s two rooms for recruits, guests, whatever. Wanda comes for a mission and she has no where to stay because that fucking goth nightmare is in her room.”

Loki could feel Stark pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“I don’t give a shit wear he sleeps, Stark, he’s staying.”

With this Fury turned on his heels and left.

Loki’s face burned with humiliation. His throat worked to try and swallow what little saliva was in his mouth but it felt as though he were choking. His skin was hot and pricked irritably as if he were on a bed of hypodermic needles. Why couldn’t he just be left alone? They hated him for something he didn’t even remember doing.

A paper plate was sat beside him on the sofa. He glanced at it and then up at its deliverer; a gentle2 faced Steven Rogers, who smiled a small pitying smile at him. Loki looked away quickly.

Stark’s muffled groan, likely due to covering his face with his hands melodramatically, only served to make Loki feel worse. Loki was always an intrusion, a burden, a dead weight, a waste of… a waste. Even as a child he remembered clearly wondering to himself why others did not like him, why Thor’s friends did not like him. He watched how Thor interacted with them, he watched how they interacted with each other, and he tried to emulate that energy and those words but they always looked at him like he was a slug stuck to their boot. If they played with him at all it was in a game of gather-around-Loki-and-ridicule-him. Or his personal favorite, demean his skill in magic to lure him into a physical fight where two or more of the friends would beat the snot out of him while Thor laughed jovially because to Thor fighting was very fun. Plus Thor was very cruel as a teenager, and as a young man.

Loki did not touch the toast. His bony hands fisted the loose fabric of his pants until his knuckles were white.

Rogers signed again. If the prince had been in any state of mind to think of anything at all he would have thought how annoying it might be if the Captain’s sighing persists.

“Couple bites of the toast with these,” said Rogers, dropping a aluminum pouch onto the cushion of the sofa by the toast. “Don’t take them without the toast. Might be that nothing happens, might be that it makes you sick just like humans, I don’t know—better safe than sorry, right?” Rogers attempted a gentle but aloof tone, as if they were friends, or at least friendly.

Loki stared at his hands balled up in the fabric of his Midgardian soft pants, and said nothing.

Rogers watched him with concern before conceding. “Alright,” he said and walked away toward Stark.

The large immaculate hand of Captain Steve Rogers jutted out a short way from his body to discretely grab hold of Stark’s bicep and squeeze it painfully; dragging him into the communal kitchen.

“Stop,” Rogers hissed, letting go of Stark’s arm.

Stark looked at Steve with a frown that, had it not been a ruse, would have sent the message that he had no intention of stopping. But Steve could see passed that. Stark had a lot of pride, he had a lot of bravado that he had practiced for many years to carefully cover the open wounds he walked around with, and sometimes, Steve realized, sometimes he let his ruse get out of hand and eclipse who Stark really was.

Tony Stark was a deeply sensitive person, compassionate, thoughtful, and he was all those things behind the proverbial closed doors of the walls he had made to protect himself from other people. Sometimes the good natured things inside those doors would be sending messages to be thoughtful, to be kind, to reach out, to communicate—but those voices were a splash in the pale compared to the trumpeting voices blasting from the ramparts: “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck all of you!”

The Captain had learned it took a calm approach, and many fair comparisons, to get Tony to see what he needed to see.

Right now Rogers was fuming and not mentally prepared to be calm and collected and come to Tony with baby gloves.

“He is clearly not okay,” began Rogers, pointing a finger in the direction of the living room.

“Bag of cats? Yeah, Cap, we kno…”

“STARK!”

Tony snapped up to look at him, all humor dying on his half opened mouth. The mirth bled from his eyes and was promptly replaced by a seriousness Rogers was seldom witness to.

“He is not okay,” he repeated, slower. Rogers dragged a hand down his tired face and leaned against the counter behind him, propping his hands on the counter. “We didn’t really ask questions did we?”

Stark frowned. “Uh, yeah, please don’t tell me more about what you’re talking about, please be vague and mysterious.”

Steve sent Stark a razor sharp glare from between his fingers. “About the healing deal. We didn’t ask questions. We didn’t know how it worked for Loki, and we didn’t… we didn’t care, did we?” Rogers released a deprecatory groan.

“It’s _Loki,_ ” said Stark, as if that was excuse enough.

Steve shook his head. “Our only experience with Loki is the attack and we know now he was being controlled.”

“So he says.”

“No _not_ so he says. He never said it. It was prove in spite of him. Besides, is that what you say to Clint?” Interrogated Rogers. “Do you accuse Clint of faking being controlled? Do you judge him on what he did while being controlled? Hold him accountable for that? No? You need to let the grudge with Loki _go._ ”

Stark made a face, but Steve knew he had him in a corner. “Don’t look at me with those rock hard baby blues.”

Rogers closed his eyes. “Don’t be grotesque. I will change the entire training schedule to you versus me and I will throw you down every day for a month.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Tony said under his breath.

“I’m serious though, Tony. We didn’t think about this, I don’t think anyone did.”

Stark shrugged. “Fury did, and he definitely didn’t care.”

“Granted.”

“Dr. Strange did.”

“How do you know?”

Tony began telling him but before the words came out of his mouth a strange expression came over his face as though he was remembering something. Once it seemed he remembered it his expression became sheepish. “He uh… he called me—several times,” Tony started. He couldn’t meet Rogers gaze now. “He told me Loki wasn’t eating or sleeping, that we were being to difficult, to hard on him, that he couldn’t, uh… that he couldn’t cope.”

Steve said nothing. He stared at Stark in shock and another emotion that might have been disgust.

Stark’s resolve snapped under the pressure of those horribly earnest eyes. “Goddamnit, Steve, I’m sorry!” He ran his hands through his hair, walking frantically around the small confined space. “I assumed it was just this whiny prince used to getting everything he wanted, used to never working, complaining about having to actually do something!” He threw his hands up in exasperation, seemingly desperate for Rogers to understand.

“We can talk about this later. What room is Loki going to stay in?”

Stark’s face was still contorted with guilt. “Any of the open ones, it doesn’t actually matter, I was just throwing a fit earlier.”

Steve huffed a laugh at that.

“Loki,” Steven called when he entered the room again. He couldn’t see the god over the back of the sofa anymore. For a second his stomach fell but as he walked closer he could see the go on his side, asleep on the sofa.

“Well, he’s kinda cute like this,” said Tony from his side. He hadn’t noticed the man follow him into the room.

“Hey, Loki?” Said Steve, leaning down to shake his shoulder gently. “Loki? I’m gonna take you to your room.” The god still did not wake.

“Is he dead?”

Steve checked his pulse, patted his cheek gently, but firmly enough that a slumbering person would startle come. “No, but he’s also not asleep. I think he passed out.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.” Steve stood up.

“Why, uh… why is he bare foot?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, sorry, when editing I couldn’t make it longer without making it 4000 words and then the next chapter would be shorter lol. Enjoy! Comments are so appreciated!!
> 
> Also I am writing on Vocal as OjoBishop if anyone is interested in reading my serious work. I’m not sure about the platform yet, it seemed very limited in capability but we shall see.

Loki woke up with the distinct feeling of being watched. At first he was apprehensive to open his eyes but the reality of the inevitable set in, that there was no just pretending to be asleep, that was unlikely work with a regular human much less a super human or mutant. Before he could change his mind he opened his eyes. He did not peak them open, he did not open them as if he were groggy, he opened them and looked directly where he knew whoever was watching him, lurking in his bedroom, stood quietly. He was at a disadvantage but he could at least put them on edge.

The individual he put on edge, however, was not the Captain, or Tony Stark, or Fury, but a young man in soft clothes with a open expression, who startled and took a step backward, but did not take his eyes from Loki.

He was in a dark room on a bed, not at all the place in which he remembered being when he came here. He must have passed out. He did not recall being shown this room, or being sequestered here, or going to sleep. He was relieved to at least find his clothes unchanged.

“I’m Peter, hi,” said the young man, tension clear in his voice.

Loki did not greet him back or proffer his own name. He continued to stare at the young man until the cheeks of his audience were a burning red.

“You’re Loki.”

Still Loki said nothing.

“I’m not here to hurt you. No one is.”

To this flagrant lie Loki frowned.

“Hard to believe, I get it. Uh… I brought you books…?” The last statement sounded more like a question than anything, but the young man provided the books, unnecessarily picking them up from where he had seemingly placed them on the nightstand by the bed in which Loki lay. “Classics mainly, one of The Russians, two maybe. Actually there’s some historical fiction in here, you might like that. Though I guess… well, I mean I guess I don’t actually know what you like. But I liked it…? I think it’s a commonly liked book. I…”

“You talk too much,” said Loki, finally.

At first Peter looked taken aback but then he cracked a smile and looked only bashful. “Yeah—nervous tick, combined with…well, with that I just do talk too much,” he laughed. “Are you hungry?”

Loki shook his head, pulling the blanket closer to his cheek.

Before anything more could be said the door swung open, smacking the wall audibly. Loki jumped out from beneath the covers and stabilized in a kneeling position. At the door was a casually dressed Tony Stark with a red and gold gauntlet on his hand, an open, glowing palm pointed at Loki.

“Kid, what the fuck are you doing in here!”

Peter firstly looked startled, but secondly looked nearly incredulous. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know who the fuck this is?”

“Loki. Loki of Asgard, yes, everyone knows who… what are _you_ doing?”

Tony shook his head, never taking his eyes off Loki. “Nope. No, get the fuck out, let’s go.”

Loki watched them both carefully, waiting for a trap to snare him. Peter looked at him apologetically but did, eventually, and reluctantly, leave. Once he was gone, Tony having walked him out and closed the door behind him, turned on Loki like a dog might.

“Don’t fucking go near him again,” he said, pointing a finger at Loki.

Loki, a permanent scowl on his face, dropped his eyes and nodded once, curtly.

Tony was going to say more. He had more to say, anyway, or he thought he had. He stormed down here, livid, fuming, saying all sorts of things in his head, but now that he was here his energy was gone, and it wasn’t stimulated by the fact that Loki had given up instantaneously.

“Just…” Tony started. “Just go, I don’t know… go back to bed. I’ll send Steve… that is… I’ll send Rogers in.” With that he left, leaving the door open.

Loki felt like a stray dog that had snapped its jaws at someone’s child and now was reprimanded and kicked away to scurry back to its home under the shade of some odd shrubbery or in the wet alleyway between places where food was made but he was not welcome.

All the times he felt out of place or awkward at Strange’s home, all the times Wong made him feel like utter trash, he envied those times right now because he could not imagine enduring this kicked-dog feeling all day, every day, for the duration of his stay here; it made him feel sick to his stomach and the self loathing it brought upon him was nearly crippling.

Stark was long gone, Loki was lost in his deepening pool of deprecation, when a shadow stretched across the floor. He thought it may be Rogers but when he looked up there was no one there, though he thought he saw the tail end of a shadow leaving the hallway.

How odd. How ominously odd.

Then there was another shadow only this one approached him and it really was Rogers. Had it been one in the same? Perhaps Roger’s came nearly in, forgot something, texted someone, who knows, stepped out, and now was back again. That made perfect sense.

“Loki, hey, bud, how are you?” The Captain was leaning against the doorframe, occupying the entirety of the doorway, though he did not look encroaching or to be guarding. The soft clothes from before were gone and replaced by his uniform—he must have just gotten back from a mission, or was training.

Loki sat with one leg up and bent at the knee and the other out and tucked underneath him, his arms wrapped loosely around the upturned knee, resisting the urge to rest his chin on his knee. He did not know how to interpret this stark change in Steve Rogers. The man had gone from ignoring him in the field aside from curt orders, to calling him diminutive nicknames and talking to him in a tone which eerily resembled that of a sibling. Though granted, no sibling Loki had ever known.

The god realized he had not spoken and had only stared at the Captain. Rogers eyebrows were raised, an amusement quirk at his mouth. “I am fine.” Well that wasn’t so hard.

The Captain only looked more amused, his eyes glinting and his dimples deepening impossibly. The mischief or whatever it was faded in his eyes and was replaced by reluctant resolve. “Do you want to come out here for a meal? Most everyone will be out there, I know that’s daunting, but it would show good faith I think.”

Loki did not show it but the last comment bothered him. What did he have to show good faith for, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Never had he shown them a single reason to doubt neither his abilities or his person. They knew he wasn’t responsible for the war in 2012 but it was clear they didn’t let that bit of information stop them from holding him accountable.

He knew the meal would go poorly but he nodded anyway. He needed them to trust him, to treat him fairly, to… to like him, even.

Steve nodded as well and pushed himself from the door frame, but in stead of walking away he only stepped out into the hall and stood there, arms crossed, clearly waiting for Loki to follow him. Perhaps had he been left alone he would have washed his face and changed clothes but that seemingly was not going to be allowed so he scurried out of the comfortable bed and followed behind the Captain.

Loki mentally went through everyone he thought might be there. He didn’t know who all lived in the compound; the Avengers no doubt, but if there were others, like the X-Force as Stark had mentioned, he did not know them.

There were many halls and all of them led to one large communal room where there was a tv, many places to sit, a table, and a kitchen. Everything was very modern and sharp in style, a style which was unfamiliar to Loki.

When he entered the room the din of the occupied space quieted immediately to whispers or silence. No one looked at him, but it was clear they were intentionally avoiding doing just that and he wasn’t sure if it was worse or better than the natural reaction to stare at him like he was a trash eating rodent who had made his way into the immaculate domestic homes of an expensive neighborhood.

Loki moved behind Rogers, inadvertently using him as a human shield to guard him from whatever awkwardness awaited. He nearly made it to the actual dining area but before he did he was stopped in his tracts by nothing tangible but by a cold striking fear that squeeze at his throat and made his hands shake. The Captain went on ahead several steps before noticing his shadow had loitered.

Rogers turned around to find Loki, skin pale, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, clearly in shock. He thought perhaps he experienced a vivid memory until it became clear the god was looking at the crowded table. Steve looked over at the Avengers and the various X-Force members who were sitting or otherwise standing around the table. It would have been unclear who he was staring at had Nebula not looked over at Loki just when Steve was scanning the small crowd. Her previous humored eyes darkened and hardened, and one of her eyebrows raised as if to squelch any form of defiance from Loki.

The god in question swallowed visibly and stumbled backward, before Rogers could reach out for him he was rushing quickly back down the hallway.

“What the fuck was that about?” Asked Clint.

Steven looked at Nebula knowingly.

“We worked together when he was with Thanos,” said Nebula.

Tony’s expression changed to one of understanding. “What? He afraid you’re going to tattle on all his misdeeds?” Stark huffed, sidestepping through the narrow pathway between the wall and those already seated for the meal, his plate raised above their heads.

Nebula smirked.

Clint frowned but said nothing, going back to his meal, though if the force with which he stabbed his eggs increased no one said anything about it.

Steve stood there flabbergasted for a second, looking at anyone who would look at him for an inkling of insight into what just happened. When he received no aid he sighed and turned around to head right back down the hall he had just come from.

“Loki? He called before entering the bedroom. Loki was pacing a short distance, arms crossed over his chest defensively. Rogers looked behind him to ensure he was alone and stepped inside, closing the bedroom door in his wake. “Loki, hey, what’s wrong?”

The god shook his head, his face screwed up into a worried expression, chewing at his cheek. “I-I made a mistake. I rather not eat out there,” said Loki, stopping now to look at Steve straight on, though his body still move minutely. “May I eat in the privacy of my bedroom?”

Steve’s instinct was to ask what was wrong, to coax him back out, but he thought of the many times Bucky couldn’t make himself go out there, eat in front of people, talk to anyone, he thought of that and he decided to handle Loki with the same kitten gloves as his good friend.

Rogers’ smiled kindly, a small empathetic smile. “Yeah, hey, that’s just fine, I’ll bring something back. Picky?”He hoped his voice sounded as nonchalant as it needed to sound.

Loki shook his head once, curtly, but did not reply.


End file.
